All These Things That I've Done
by alyssialui
Summary: Sirius has successfully avoided talking to his mother for the past two years. What will happen when she's tired of the games and he has nowhere left to run? Inspired by the opening lines of the song by The Killers. Five part MC. Warning for some abuse.
1. When There's Nowhere Left To Run

_A/N: Sirius has successfully avoided talking to his mother for the past two years. What will happen when she's tired of the games and he has nowhere left to run? I've been listening to this song over and over and I got inspired to write a short MC based on the opening lines. I hope you enjoy. I've thought about it and this could almost be a prequel to my other fic '**Disowned**', so go check it out after this fic if you haven't yet. RxR. FxF._

_Submission for:_

_**Represent That Character! Challenge II**_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter._

* * *

He had been avoiding his mother for two years now. During the school year it had been easy. He burned all her letters and stopped any correspondence with Regulus if she made him a messenger. He knew what every letter and message contained and the hidden meaning behind her carefully crafted words.

They spoke of dishonoring the family, they spoke of his uncouth behavior and horrible associations which were unbecoming of a Pureblood, and they spoke of him redeeming himself as the heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

They held promises of a better life, full of riches, fame and fortune if he just returned home. If he just became her precious little lapdog once more, she would forgive all his misgivings.

Did she take him for a fool? Did she believe he would willingly give himself up to become a pawn once more? Did she really think he would believe that she would welcome him with open arms if he denounced all that was impure and shouted it to the heavens?

He laughed out loud at the thought on one more than one occasion, worrying his friends of his slowly declining mental state. But he couldn't help it. Even the concept was completely absurd.

During the summers however, she may have hoped she finally had him in her grasps. He was away from the protection of the castle and close enough to sink her teeth into. But he would never give her that chance. As soon as he arrived at the train station, he would load his trunk into his friend's father's car and spend his summer there. He was safe for she wouldn't dare knock on his friend's family's front door. This was a strictly private matter within his family, which made it easier to hide from her there. He would ignore her letters once more, opening the Howlers in the forest behind his friend's home, and lapping the wounds that came from her deadlier letters. He would suffer through it all, for anything was considerably better than going home to her waiting arms.

He jumped off the train at the end of his 6th year, laughing loudly with his friends as they spoke of their plans for the summer. As usual, he mentioned all the havoc he would cause at his friend's house, for there was no possibility of him spending it at home. But then he was frozen in his tracks, his voice breaking off mid-sentence in terror as he spied two people he never thought he would see here of all places.

They never came to collect their children, too busy with their noses in the air to worry about their sons' well-beings, and allowing him to easily stay away from home. But this year was different. This year she was tired of being purposely ignored, tired of his absence and tired of the games.

Everyone else disappeared from the crowded platform as his eyes landed on her figure. His mother's face was sporting a smile which spoke volumes of what was to come, her eyes practically giving away the secret if anyone looked closely. But it wasn't just her, it was also his father. His father's face was a mask of indifference, his eyes having yet not found his older son, but even from across the platform, he could feel the anger radiating off the imposing man.

His friends regarded his horrified expression with a bit of confusion. They followed his frightened gaze across the crowd to the couple standing near the exit off the platform. They had never seen his parents but the family resemblance was remarkable. They soon understood their friend's change for they felt a sense of unease after they looked a bit too long into his mother's face. He didn't even notice their concern, too caught up in the implications of their presence and the punishments he was sure to endure when he got home.

She had finally caught her disobedient mongrel.

He knew she had seen him so there was no need to call his name and beckon him to her. They both knew that he would walk into the trap. There was nowhere left to run.


	2. Is There Room For One More Son

_A/N: So here's chapter two. Sirius is brought home and at the mercy of his devil of a mother. The prodigal son has finally returned. But is there room for one more son in this household that had become three?_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter._

* * *

He stood beside his mother, his shoulder clamped beneath her clawed hand, her talons seeking to draw blood but obstructed by the fabric of his clothes. His father spared him one look of disdain before searching the platform once more.

He tried to appear calm and nonchalant, wearing a well-practiced mask of indifference, one that could rival even his father's, however the fear must have still been evident in his eyes. His friends were sending him worried glances, looking as if they wanted to run to his aid, but they knew better, or at least he hoped they did. There was nothing they could do anyway.

Regulus exited the train in the company of his Slytherin friends and he could practically feel his mother's adoration upon seeing her golden child as her body relaxed slightly, the claw loosening only a bit.

Regulus' eyes scanned the platform but only for something to do before heading to the floo. He was well aware of their parents' negligence and he never left with his brother, who always disappeared as soon as he could. His eyes finally landed on his loving family and there was a slight hitch in his step before he strolled over with his head held high. Though they were not on the best of terms, he could read his brother like a book from a mile away. Regulus was surprised as well, hiding his fear behind a cool swagger and a pompous attitude. It made him scowl at the mindless sheep his brother had become.

Once Regulus stood with them, his father turned and stalked through the barrier, his leave signalling the end of this charade. They walked behind him, his mother's grip increasing to ensure her straying dog kept on his leash. His brother spared one glance to him, but he ignored him and kept his face forward. He didn't need Regulus' false pity.

No words had been exchanged between the family throughout this whole ordeal, but that just heightened his nerves. This was the calm before the storm, a storm that been brewing for two years and it would soon hit him full force.

They walked into a private room at the Muggle station, too clean and pure to dirty themselves with the sooty fireplaces. With his mother's hand on his shoulder, and Regulus tentatively holding her other hand, they apparated to their home, his house, Grimmauld Place.

They appeared in the foyer of the grand house, the large room closing in on him and wanting to strangle him with the darkness. His mother was never one to open the windows for any flippant reason. She was creature of the darkness and abhorred anything light.

His feet touched the rug and before he could think, he was forcibly pushed to the floor, his nose inhaling the dust of the aged carpet. His mother's heeled boot was placed on the space between his shoulder blades and the nape of his neck, holding him in place. She bent low, her mouth only a few centimetres from his ear and whispered harshly, "Welcome home, son." Then she screeched, "Leave us!" to his father and brother. His father was all too happy to go, already finished with this spectacle, though he knew he and his father would have their own talk later. Regulus was also jumping at the chance to go, his unease evident in the shifting of his feet. Kreacher quickly came from under the stairs and grabbed their trunks before taking them away.

She turned back to him and moved her foot a bit higher to press her heel into the soft flesh of his neck. He winced slightly at the pressure but he would not give her any pleasure in hearing him squirm or beg. "We are glad to have you home, son. There is so much that has happened since the last time I saw you and much to be done now that you are here," she said innocently.

She waited for some response from him but he still remained quiet. She continued, "You shouldn't have ignored me, boy. You shouldn't have run. You forced me to come get you myself, which only succeeded in making it worse."

She was pressing hard enough into the back of his neck to draw blood and his mouth opened in a silent scream, his face contorted in pain. She had gotten to him.

She removed her heel and stepped back a bit. "Get up, boy!" she shouted, kicking his extended leg. But he remained on the ground, vainly defiant even though he knew it would irritate her more. Maybe that's why he was doing it. He just couldn't help it. He had lost all respect for her long ago. He despised her and everything she stood for. He wouldn't just bow to her will.

His body rose from the ground of its own accord, or actually at her wand's power. He floated a foot above the ground, his arms outstretched and facing her. She leaned into his face and gave him a sweet smile. She offered him a reprieve, "All can be forgiven my dear. There is room for you here, if you only ask. We are still family and you are still a Black."

He spat on the rug near to her feet and gave her a lopsided grin. mocking her own smiling face. He wasn't falling for such an obvious ploy. He had called her bluff. Her eyes blazed red and she leaned away, stepping away from the spittle. "It seems after all this time, you have forgotten who you are and who I am, son."

The pain that ripped through his body was beyond anything he had ever felt. He had purposely forgotten the punishments she had given him two years before, repressing those memories to never be relived again. They had been bad but she had never used an Unforgivable on him then. This spell had all the rage and annoyance held in for the two years of his absence. She held the spell, moving her wand about his body and the epicenter of the shockwaves following its path. He had yet to scream and he could see the annoyance on her face the longer he took.

Then she moved her wand to point directly at his throat and that did. His mouth opened wide and let out the most terrifying sound he had ever heard, made worse because he knew it was coming out of his own mouth. The pain rippled from the area and travelled up his neck to his head and down to the ends of his toes. His throat was raw and he could feel a strange warm trickling, the iron taste faintly registered on his tongue.

Then he fell to the floor unable to catch himself and his face slamming painfully onto the carpet. His chest heaved in ragged breaths as his body shuddered with aftershocks. She stood over him again, her heel on his exposed cheek but he barely felt it through the pain that was still racking his body.

She leaned down and said, "These is still room for one more son. I hope you've remembered who you really are."


	3. One More Son

_Walburga and Orion remember they have one more son they can count on to do the right thing, but does Regulus want to be that son?_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter._

* * *

She left the pathetic waste of space and blood on the rug, screeching at Kreacher to clean up the mess he had made with his thrashing and to take him to his room. No one had gone up there in years so it should still be the way he left it, with all those distasteful posters which she couldn't blast off the wall no matter how hard she tried.

She walked through the house looking for her husband. Normally, they stayed out of each other's hair. She managed the household, monitoring the house-elves and keeping up appearances among their circles like a proper pureblood wife. He managed the finances and ensured their family's money was put into proper investments. He had no reason to be involved in her or their children's lives, but this was a special case. This concerned both their appearance and their finances.

The Dark Lord was rising in power and was recruiting all those who agreed with his cause: the eradication of the filth of the world. The Blacks remained as one of the most prestigious and oldest families, going back for centuries, by remaining pure and marrying within their kind. Their motto epitomized their belief: "_Toujours Pur_". All things impure deserved to be scoured.

This man had a plan but he needed an army and he needed funds. He had already approached her brother's family, and they had donated generously, with their oldest jumping eagerly to the cause like a good girl. But he was of a side branch, and she would not accept such effrontery from her own family.

They would present their son, the true Black heir, to the Dark Lord for his cause. He would represent their family in this revolution against impurities. He would have fame and fortune, glory and honour bestowed upon him. It was just a shame that such an honour would have to go to someone so worthless. If only their bright star, Regulus, had been the first-born, then she wouldn't even have to contact her worthless child.

She finally found her husband sitting in his study, sipping on his favourite whiskey. She knocked before entering the room with her head held down, always the subservient wife. "The boy has been placed in his room, dear."

She chanced a look at his face. Her husband regarded her coldly, looking at her from the top of his tumbler before taking a long sip. His lip curled around the edge of the glass before asking, "And is he more willing now?"

She gulped. She wished she had a more confident answer, but all she could say was, "I should hope so, dear. All thoughts otherwise were removed forcibly."

There was a silent moment before her husband spoke once more, "We will talk to him later and begin the preparations. _He _will be arriving for dinner in the next few days to meet the boy. Hopefully, at the same time, he will find favour in our other son. At least we can count on him to do the right thing."

She nodded dutifully. Regulus would not be hard to prepare. He would do what was expected without question for he was a good boy. However, she had such short time to retrain that cur and she was sure, even with her first lesson, that his stubbornness had not been removed in the slightest. She would have to increase the 'treatment'.

"Yes, dear," she said. She looked up and he waved his hand at her before staring away from her direction. She took that her cue to leave and she made her way out of the study, closing the door soundly behind her. She had to get ready for their talk with their son later.

**...oOo...**

There was one more son in the Black family, young Regulus. He sat in his room on his bed, his foot shaking uncontrollably and his chest constricted under the effects of a panic attack. He hadn't had one in years, not since his brother had last been here and his reappearance had triggered them once more.

It was the constant fighting and bickering between him and their parents, mostly their mother, that set him on edge. His brother held his own, never wavering under their mother's intense gaze, and it usually resulted in pain and tears, sometimes broken bones and bloody faces, but nothing like this.

The memory of his screams still echoed through Regulus' mind. Their fights had never been that bad and he had never heard such a sound escape his brother's throat, then it suddenly stopped and the house was quiet. Regulus waited with baited breath, his heart racing when he heard the thumping on the stairs. There was the hissing sound of something being dragged across the floor, then door down the hall opened and then shut before the footsteps retreated.

His brother had been placed in his room and Regulus was spared once more. But did he really have anything to fear? Some part in the back of his mind, Regulus always feared his mother would turn on him one day. Her anger would finally boil over, exceeding its bounds and onto him. But his mother had always called him her golden boy. He was the perfect son, the one who respected his parents and held his family's beliefs proudly. He could do no wrong in her eyes.

However, he still felt tense. There was something in the air that spoke of things yet to come. Something big was about to happen. Regulus had no idea what, but he knew it had something to do with his brother. Why else would his mother be so hellbent on having him home this summer and not the summers before? He should go to his brother and share with him his fears and concerns. But he couldn't, frozen in place on the edge of his bed. Though he wanted to, Regulus was a coward out to save his own skin. He wanted to remain uninvolved. He hoped whatever it was would go after his brother and forget that their parents had one more son.


	4. If You Can't Hold On

_A/N: Regulus finally gets the courage to talk to his brother and he begs him not to leave, to hold on just a bit longer, but he can't hold on. He can't hold on. RxR. FxF._

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter._

* * *

He woke up in his room with a groan not remembering when or how he got there. All he knew was that he had gotten home, he had been tortured and then he was face-down on the floor. Kreacher must have brought him up here, and by the feel of it, not too nicely.

He pushed himself off his bed and looked around. The room was dark and from the small space through his curtains, it was now evening time. He had been out for at least two hours then. The walls were cast in shadows with odd shapes but they brought a smile to his face all the same: the red and gold colour fighting through the gloom, his posters of girls in bikinis, his figurines on his bookshelf, the busted snitch that he had promised his friend he would fix but never did.

He shuddered, another aftershock, before throwing himself back down his bed. That had been a lovely welcome home present from his mother, and he was sure she had many more to give. She may have broken his body today, but he was sure that she would not stop until she had broken his will as well.

There was a soft knock on the door and he froze, his light breathing halting in the darkness. Did she know he was awake? Would she really come for him now? She never came into their rooms but today was a day for the impossible and he didn't know what to expect anymore.

The door opened just a sliver and he was confused. She would definitely have opened the door with a bang and screech, a scathing remark and a sharp sting to his bum, but there was nothing but a small shadow and then the soft shutting of the door.

A harsh whisper cut through the darkness right next to his ear, "Brother?"

He jumped not realizing just how close Regulus had gotten within those long seconds. There was a quick 'Sorry', before he felt the end of his bed sink.

"What are you doing here?" he asked angrily. Regulus hadn't come to visit him in years. He always stayed out of the way and just let him get tossed around by their hag of a mother.

"Something's happening," was all Regulus said.

He let the words hang in the air before he asked, "What do you mean?" Did Regulus know something he didn't?

"I'm not sure, brother. But it's something big and it's something bad. I know we're going to have a special guest over for dinner soon, though mother won't tell me more on the subject," Regulus said quietly.

He stared up into the darkness. It was starting to make sense now. _He_ was coming for dinner and their mother was going to present her heir to him. He didn't have much time before he was to be signed over like cattle.

"Is something going to happen, brother?" Regulus asked. There was the hint of something more in his voice, an unsaid 'to you' that Regulus didn't have the courage to voice.

"Yes, something is going to happen," he said. He would have left it at that but why should he spare his younger brother from knowing the truth? He was old enough now and he didn't need to be protected any longer. "The Dark Lord is coming for dinner, Regulus, and our dear mother is going to hand me over on a silver platter with a golden collar around my neck," he added.

Regulus leaned away from him and said, "She wouldn't do that. She wouldn't-"

"You really think so highly of our mother, Regulus!" he shouted, lifting his body off the bed and ignoring the shots of pain through his spine. "You really think she wouldn't use the first chance she got to hand me over?"

"But she brought you home. She wanted you back and she wanted her family whole," Regulus reasoned.

"She wanted her stray home so she could put him down herself. I am a Black only because I was borne of her womb. If there was any way to reverse that, then she would have eagerly taken it and I would cease to exist. I've only brought disgrace to the name Black according to her. But with this opportunity, it puts our family in the best light and she gets rid of me in one fell swoop."

"She is still a mother. She wouldn't-" Regulus tried to justify.

"A mother doesn't subject her child to an Unforgivable," he said finally.

The silence stretched between them, widening the gap between the brothers even further and he was surprised just how much he wished it wouldn't.

When he had been sorted into Gryffindor, he had been ostracized by his family, but he could always count on his brother to still be there. At the time, Regulus would still try to write him without his mother finding out and they were still close. But once Regulus was sorted into Slytherin, their relationship became strained. Regulus was warned by his Slytherin friends not to fraternize with 'blood-traitors' and their mother tightened her leash on her obedient son while he was home. They had rare conversations out of ear-shot, an odd secret letter, but no communications of real importance. Now as he lay in the dark with just the sound of their breathing, he realized just how much he missed his younger brother.

"So what are you going to do?" Regulus asked, for the question had to be asked. They both knew he wouldn't just go easily, though Regulus may have hoped.

After a few moments, he said, "I don't know yet, but I'm not going to let this happen."

Regulus rose off the bed and asked incredulously, "How are you going to do that? Once the Dark Lord calls, you can't just run."

He laughed dryly, "Now you know why our mother wanted me home immediately." He pushed off the bed, testing his weight on his sore legs. "I don't know how I'm going to, but this isn't happening."

Regulus reached out to him in the darkness and he winced as his brother's fingers closed around what felt like a sprained wrist. "There's nothing that be done," Regulus said. "It would be easier just to go along with it. I know you like to make jokes and have fun, but the Dark Lord is not one to mess with. Once he has you, he won't let you go."

He grinned though Regulus may not have seen him in the dark. "Then I'll just have to make sure he doesn't have me," he said.

"You're going to leave!" Regulus said in shock, once he caught on to his implication.

"Well, I can't stay here, Regulus! You just as good as said so. If I don't want to be a Death Eater, then I have to go," he said, throwing his brother's arm off him. "And it would be smart of you to come with me."

"With you?" Regulus asked.

"Yes," he said, grabbing back for Regulus' hand. "When I leave, because you and I know I will, they will call on you. Mother won't let the Dark Lord go home empty-handed."

"I can't do that, brother," Regulus said.

"What?" he asked in shock.

Regulus began, his voice monotonous as if reading a script, "As a member of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, it is my duty to uphold-"

"The standards of our family and represent its beliefs in all facets," he ended mockingly, talking over his brother. "Mother trained you well, didn't she? Regulus, don't you see? One of us will become a Death Eater after that dinner. It won't be me and I don't want it to be you."

"If you don't want it to be me, then you wouldn't be going. You would be doing your duty to our family," Regulus said sternly.

He threw his hands in the air. "Screw our family! What kind of family has arguments over which son should become a murderer? This is not a healthy environment, Regulus. Just come with me."

"No, I can't," Regulus repeated.

"Well, I can't stay here," he said as he moved about his room. He began grabbing a few more things to put into his school trunk that sat unopened at the end of his bed.

Regulus darted out and grabbed his arm, squeezing slightly. He ignored the pain as he felt the air shift, as if Regulus finally understood the gravity of the situation. Regulus finally realized that his mind was made up and he was really going to leave.

"I know this isn't the best situation, but it is the way we live. This is our family. It was horrible while you weren't here. Everyday was another day I was happy to get through it without getting on mother's bad side for any reason. She was about ready to blow a fuse at the slightest opportunity. I hoped every day you would just come home, just so that I could be put at ease and have to stop worrying. Now I realize you were probably better out there. It was safer for you out there. But you're here now. And if something should happen, if you really leave, I can't do this alone. I can't face that man and sit in that dinner alone. Please, brother. Hold on. Please, Don't go. "

He gave Regulus a long hard look, his eyes having adjusted to the darkness now. He could see the pleading in his eyes and hear the desperation in his voice. Though Regulus' reasons were selfish, there was still truth in his words. He knew if he left, he was passing his burden onto his younger brother's shoulders. He was damning him to the life of a murderer. If there was any other way, he would have done anything to save both him and his brother from this fate but it was just too much. As much as Regulus was scared, he was scared too.

He could feel his voice get heavy, his body feel weak and his legs wobble. "No, I can't, I can't hold on, not any longer," he said as the fear finally drowned him and fell to the ground in tears.


	5. Hold On

_A/N: It's a battle of wills when Sirius is caught during his escape by his father. When he narrowly escapes, Sirius just has to hold on until he gets to his friend's house. This is the last chapter. Thanks for reading until the end. RxR. FxF._

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter._

* * *

Regulus crouched down beside him but he pushed his brother away. He didn't need Regulus' coddling or selfish concern now. He needed to get out. The longer he stayed here, the harder it would be to leave. He got up off the ground, wiping away the remaining wetness around his eyes and continued packing his things. Regulus quietly slipped out the room but he paid him no mind.

Once his trunk was packed to the brim, and the unnecessary things left behind, he grabbed it and pulled it slowly behind him. He would have used the window but his mother had warded it, along with all the other windows, long ago when he frequently used it to evade her when he was younger. The only way out for him was through the front door.

The house was silent and though it usually was, the fact that he was actually planning to escape made the house seem even more oppressing. It felt as if the walls themselves were watching him: the unseeing eyes of the elf heads and the dozing people in the two portraits in the hallway. He moved quietly so as not wake them and have his cover blown.

He made it down the stairs, grinning to himself at just how far he had gotten. The door was in his sight. It was so close that if anyone should see him, he would already be long gone.

There was a white light and he was frozen, his face hitting the bare wooden floor this time. He heard the slow steady steps approaching his prone form: purposeful, intimidating yet indifferent, as if their owner really couldn't care less where he walked but they would get him to his destination while making others quake in fear. These were not the harried and crazy feet of his mother but the one person no one should aggravate: his father.

"Boy," his father said, his disgust laced in his voice. No more words were said as he levitated his son's body and moved him into his study. No one was allowed in his father's study. It was his private sanctuary within the house, but everyone was here tonight: one big happy family.

His body fell to the floor once more, but he could feel the spell lift as his breathing picked up again and the fear taking hold over him. The door shut behind him, sounding like a bang to his heightened hearing. His plans were ruined. There was no way out.

"Thank you, Regulus," his father said before walking to sit behind his desk. From the ground, he spared a glance up into the downcast face his brother. That traitor had told their parents, their father, what he had planned to do.

His father clicked his tongue, drawing his attention away from his brother. He said evenly, "'_As a member of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, it is your duty to uphold the standards of our family and represent its beliefs in all facets._' You are called to uphold your duty as the Black heir, son."

His voice had gotten stuck in his throat and he had yet to get up from the rug. A vein in his father's eyebrow pulsed before he almost screamed, "Get off the ground, you scum."

He scrambled to his feet quickly and cast his head down, "Yes, father."

His father stared off to the right and said, "In two days, we will be having an esteemed guest over for dinner who is looking forward to meeting our family and bestowing a great honour on our family's representative. Unfortunately, our representative has to be our blood-traitor son. You will be meeting him and you will be joining his cause. Your opinion on the matter has no place in this deal."

"Now, your mother will be in charge of re-educating you about our beliefs since you seem to have forgotten most of them. You will listen to her and learn quickly for your own good. I do not want to be called upon again for your insubordination. Do I make myself clear?"

He shook on the spot, just taking in his father's words, still afraid to speak. He heard the same footsteps approach him from behind the desk until he saw the feet stand before him. "Look at me, boy." He looked up into the face so like his own, though older around the eyes. The man repeated, "Do I make myself clear?"

He nodded and said quietly, "Yes, sir."

His father stepped back and then drew his wand, "Now, according to your mother, your first lesson was not as effective as we would have hoped. I will hope to re-enforce what she has taught you today."

This was much worse than his mother's curse for it was cast with such coldness and detachment, he thought for a while that he had left his own body and been sent to a place of pain and darkness. It felt like painful needles pushing outwards from all organs, piercing blood vessels and pulsing muscles. His legs fell from under him and he was on the floor once more, but his father cared not. He held the curse for a few seconds longer before releasing it.

"Repeat after me, '_As a member of the Noble,_'" his father began but he could not find his voice, his throat raw and sore. He made a low gurgle from deep within in response.

He felt a slash across his pant leg and felt the skin open under the cloth.

"'_As a member of the Noble_,'" his father said again and through the pain, he repeated softly.

"'_and Most Ancient House of Black_,'" his father continued and he repeated again, coughing on the '_Black_', and receiving another slash, this time across the other leg.

His father made him say the whole oath, getting another slash across his body with every hitch or mistake. He could feel his tattered clothes dampening with his blood as he repeated the lines through gritted teeth. How was any of this fair? How could a family torture their own son into going with its beliefs. This wasn't a family, he wasn't their son. He was a slave, lower than the low in their eyes.

"'..._its beliefs in all facets_'," his father ended, saying the last of the oath. He was about to respond, to repeat the last line which would effectively seal his fate forever, which would show his father that he had won.

He couldn't. He swallowed and said, "No."

His father stepped back, looking down at the boy as if he had been slapped in the face. It was the first time he had ever seen his father in state of shock and lack of composure. He would have felt proud and probably laughed under different circumstances, but now was not the time.

Then his father's face contorted in rage. He leaned down into his ear and said coldly, "What did you say?"

He chanced a glance at his shocked but frightened mother and Regulus' wide-eyed stare and repeated a bit stronger, "No, sir."

He pushed himself off the ground slowly, and he knew that it was only because of his father's disoriented state that he even made it to his feet without being struck down. It gave him confidence, which he tried to prevent from turning into cockiness. He had to keep on his toes and couldn't get distracted else he make a mistake.

His father was a tall man, but he stood only less than a head shorter. He looked into the man's eyes and said, "No, I will not represent our beliefs, for they are not my beliefs, they are yours."

"They are your beliefs as you are a Black," his father said evenly.

"I choose not to be a Black then," he said loudly, surprised at himself that he could shout in his father's presence. There was a small gasp behind him that drew his father's attention away from him. His mother was watching the pair with tears in her eyes and he wondered what she could be crying about. She hated him and everything he thought of. She didn't deserve to be crying now.

But she had distracted him. His father at turned back to him once more and slapped him soundly across the face, his Black family ring digging deeply into his smooth cheek. The warm blood slid down his skin before matting into the slight stubble under his chin.

There was a slight upturn of the corner of his father's mouth, but other than that he showed no expression or emotion. "Regardless of anything you say or do, this changes nothing. It just shows we will have to beat this rebellious nature out of you."

His father raised his wand once more and aimed it him, right above his heart, but he was done being tossed around and made worthless. He drew his own wand out his pocket and aimed it at his father's chest.

His father's eyes widened before he shouted, "I will not have such utter disrespect in my house." His face was red and his hair slightly mussed. There was a wild look in his eye of a man pushed to the edge.

"That's exactly why I was leaving," he said while slowly inching towards the door.

"No, you will not. You will obey me," his father said before rearing back his hand. "Impe-"

"Reducto!" he screamed.

His father ducked out of the way as the spell flew over his head and blasted a bookcase behind him. His mother and Regulus jumped out of their seats, his mother rushing to his father but he was already blasting the door open and running out.

He stood in the foyer once more, his trunk still at the bottom of the stairs. He grabbed it with both hands and ran for the door. He had just attacked his father and there was no way he would live through whatever his father had in store for him if he was caught again. His legs and stomach ached but there would be time to think about that after.

He stopped right by the door with a thought finally occurring to him: how would he get away? He couldn't walk anywhere now with this pain, and he couldn't Apparate yet because he didn't know how and didn't want to possibly get splinched.

There was a clatter behind him and he whirled around, his wand outstretched. He was not going quietly and his father would not catch him off-guard.

But instead he saw his brother, who was holding his broom! Regulus threw the broom to his brother. In that moment, he felt an ounce of gratitude towards his brother and had forgotten that it was Regulus who had ratted him out. He could see in Regulus' eyes the anger and hurt at his departure, but also the acceptance that this was to be and the envy that he couldn't go as well. He held out an inviting hand, his question obvious but Regulus moved his head slightly. Regulus would not be going. Regulus would be staying with his family.

There was a crash from inside the room and he saw his father's head appear in the doorway before a blue spell flew towards his head. He ducked and then blasted the front door open, hopping on the broom and kicking off, his trunk dangling by a rope off the end.

* * *

"We should go after him!" his mother shrieked, rushing towards the broken door with her own wand outstretched. The Dark Lord would be most displeased and what would they do then?

"Stop!" his father said shortly.

Her footsteps halted instantly and she turned to look at her husband strangely. "But the Dark Lord-"

He held his hand out to her and continued, "He is not worth the trouble. As of tonight, he is no longer a Black so he is no longer our heir. Regulus is now the first born. We will present him to the Dark Lord, as we should have long ago."

He walked over to his younger son whose eyes widened as his father placed a strong hand on his shoulder. Life as Regulus knew it was now over. His brother was free but now he was trapped.

* * *

Sirius flew through the night sky, his trunk now secured on the back of the broom, the cold air and the moisture in the clouds biting at his face. Though it was frigid, he thanked the cold for the numbness it provided to his sore muscles. But he was losing a lot of blood, the open wounds raining large droplets on the unsuspecting world below.

He just had to hold on, just a little bit longer. He didn't know how long it would take for his family to follow him. Maybe they would finally give up. He hoped they would, but he couldn't be sure. As Regulus said, the Dark Lord was not be messed with. If his family wanted him, if the Dark Lord wanted him, he would be found. But he had to try. He had to get as far as possible. He had to go to the safest and closest place he could think of.

He was losing conscious, black spots appearing in front of his face, making flying through the night even harder. He needed to hold on, he had to reach. He had ten more minutes until he could reach his sanctuary. He had to hold on just a bit longer. Hold on.


End file.
